Out There in the Cold
by sparrowlove
Summary: House and Wilson have a fight because of Cuddy. HouseWilson implied, WilsonCuddy implied. Based on the Pink Floyd song Hey You, but not a songfic per say. As in... there's actual plot involved.


_(Don't come outside. Don't come outside. Come outside. Don't come outside. Come outside. Don't come outside..._)

The contrasting thoughts jumbled in his mind, tumbled over and over each other as he sat in the cold. The heater had broken in his car. He didn't have time to get it fixed. He sat in the cold outside House's apartment, unsure if he wanted the man to notice him, or just go about his business, not realizing that his best friend was sitting morosely in his car as the snow fell outside.

House looked out the window. He wondered how long Wilson had been sitting there. He knew Wilson's car had a broken heater. The poor man would be freezing. House wondered how long he could leave him out there, how long he _would_ leave him out there. Not too much longer, he guessed. If Wilson didn't drive away soon, House would let him in. He was still angry, but not angry enough to let his best friend freeze to death.

"_You did what?" House was nearly laughing, but not because it was funny. Because he was so sure that it couldn't be true._

"_I know." Wilson slouched farther down on his chair. "What do I do now?" _

"_The hell do you mean, what do you do now? You slept with Cuddy! You had sex with Cuddy. Lisa Cuddy. Dean of Medicine Lisa Cuddy." House's voice crescendo as he spoke. Wilson couldn't tell if he was angry, or making fun of him, or... jealous?  
_

"_Do you like Cuddy?" Wilson asked? "Do _you_ want to sleep with Cuddy?"_

"_No," House exploded, "I do not like Cuddy. I just can't believe you would do that?"_

"_Do you like... me?" Wilson asked, half-joking._

"_I'm not a fag." _

"_House."_

"_I'm sorry. I'm not a _homosexual_. This really isn't an important time for political correctness. Just because I don't want you having sex with your boss, my boss, doesn't mean that _I_ want to have sex with her. Or you." _

"_House, I don't know what you want? I know; it was stupid, right? Yeah, but... I mean, it's... none of your business. I just asked for some advice and obviously that was a mistake."_

"_Fuck off," House snarled. Wilson left. House almost called after him, but he bit his lip and stayed silent. _

House opened his apartment door and walked to the door leading to the street. Throwing it open, he looked out onto the road to see a rectangular patch of pavement, about the size of Wilson's car. It was quickly being filled in with the heavily falling snow. House shut the door. He re-entered his apartment and picked up the phone. There was no sound. He realized that he had, as usual, unplugged it. He limped over to the wall and pushed the cord back in to the socket, and then picked up the phone again. He slammed it back down in the cradle. He didn't need to be the first to admit he was wrong. Even though he was. But then again, Wilson was wrong too, partly. House _didn't_ want to have sex with _Cuddy_.

Driving back to the hotel, Wilson clicked open his cell phone. A quick glance at the display screen showed him that House had not called. Wilson dialed the first two numbers of his friend's House phone. Then he shut the phone. He still thought he was right. Maybe not about... he didn't really think that House liked him, not really. But Cuddy, maybe. House might like Cuddy. Wilson sighed; House could have her for all he cared. He couldn't even look at Cuddy since they had slept together, and she spoke to him only when necessary for work; when she did, her voice was stiff and made it clear that that night would be nothing more than a one-night stand. Wilson didn't mind; he had no interest in a relationship. At least not in a relationship with Lisa Cuddy.

In the middle of the night, House decided that he really would like to be able to sleep. And the only way he'd be likely to accomplish that would be to clear his guilty conscience (of course, in his mind, he didn't use those words when deciding to call Wilson; House liked to believe that he was free from petty human things like consciences). However, when he opened the cell phone sitting on the floor next to his bed, House found that he did not have to dial Wilson's number; Wilson was already on the line. Through a strange coincidence, it was at exactly this moment that Wilson too had decided on the need for an apology.

Instead of a dial tone, House heard "I'm sorry."

"I was just about to call."

"I know, the phone didn't ring before you answered. And I figured you're not psychic."

"It was either that or x-ray vision. I wish I had taken the psychic powers though; I can see through Cuddy's shirt anyway. Well, _down_ it..."

"Please," Wilson said, "Let's not talk about Cuddy."

"Do you want to come over?" House asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Come over," House repeated. "Have a beer. Watch some tv. Whatever."

"It's" Wilson looked at the clock on his bed table. "past midnight."

"Just this once," House said, "Don't worry about your bedtime."

"Very funny," Wilson said.

"See you in ten minutes," House replied.

"The roads are icy. Better make it fifteen."

"Fifteen then."

"Bye House."

"Bye." House hung up the phone. His conscience cleared (or whatever he chose to call it), he tossed the cell across the room and lay back down on his bed. Smiling, he closed his eyes. After all, fifteen minutes was fifteen minutes.


End file.
